Just left synagogue briefly and read the news in detail. Sickening, surreal.
For as long as I recall a fact of Jewish life has been security duty: ordinary lay members standing outside shul to create a physical and psychological deterrent against events like this. One always wonders - as I did recently, standing in a high-vis vest after agreeing to a far-too-irregular shift on a Shabbat morning, and as my wife has done far more often - how necessary that presence is.
I was in Pittsburgh shortly after a white nationalist assassinated worshippers at a progressive synagogue, I've gone through what feels like military security to get into a shul in Sweden, I was in Paris days after a jihadist sought to murder shoppers at a kosher supermarket. And of course I've been in bomb shelters in the Holy Land.
Britain has always felt different - a place where people, mercifully, do not have to die for being born Jewish. It is, by most objective measures, one of the best, possibly the best, places in the world to be Jewish, now or at any time in history. Yet who could say the last few years have not challenged that? Who today could say it is not necessary for us to stand outside our synagogues, waiting for an event like this befall us, hoping but not quite knowing this day will pass like all the others.
I always find it remarkable that on the two occasions I've been to JW3 (London's Jewish community center) since October 7, on every occasion, people driving down Finchley Road have hooted or screamed abuse at the queue of elderly folk shuffling in - I posted about both incidents out of some tiny sense of obligation, knowing they formed part of a bigger story, even if my Britishness, and Jewishness, both made me want to do the opposite, to ignore and suppress it.
Until recently, our High Holy Days machzor - or prayer book for Yom Kippur - had remained the same since the 70s - written largely by Germanic Jewish scholars in the immediate shadow of the Holocaust, full of words and poems trying to make sense of that event. Seeing footage of a body soaked in blood outside a shul in Manchester, it feels like the penumbra of that period hover over us a little more today. On Yom Kippur the customary greeting is "Gamar Chatima Tova" - in short, may you be inscribed in the book of life for the following year. Which is why this attack, on our holiest day, is such an unimaginable affront to Jewish life in our country.